


Negotiations

by Nia (Lingwiloke)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Romance, just so you know I am insanely nervous about this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2018-12-21 14:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11946555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lingwiloke/pseuds/Nia
Summary: “All you have to do is arrive together, leave together and make lovey-dovey eyes at each other during dinner. That’s not that hard, is it?”





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KazeChama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazeChama/gifts).



> Once again, a happy (very) belated birthday to you, KazeChama - Thank you for being awesome, dearest <3

“I beg your pardon, Inquisitor - you want us to do what?”

Malika can practically see fireballs appear at Dorian’s fingertips as he stares at her in indignant outrage. She is a tad surprised it is he who is throwing a hissy fit over this; she would have expected him of all people to take this in stride, maybe even enjoy the charade. He is, after all, usually found flirting with anyone and everyone regardless of whether or not they are likely to respond positively, or whether he even truly wants them to. (Sometimes she thinks he prefers flirting with those unlikely to respond, and then she wonder how much of his cockiness is more façade than reality).

Dorian is still going on, and Malika risks a glance at her trusted military advisor, who has kept suspiciously quiet so far. Clearly, he isn’t at all pleased either; he is giving her that look again, the one that clearly says, _I do not think this an appropriate response to our current situation, Inquisitor._

Unsurprisingly, she disagrees.

“Now” ,she intercepts Dorian’s rant, “don’t get all worked up. It’s just for one evening. And it’s not as if I’m asking you to lay with him. All you have to do is arrive together, leave together and make lovey-dovey eyes at each other during dinner. That’s not that hard, is it?”

“And what, pray tell, is that supposed to gain us?” 

“She likes you and Cullen. Well, she likes the idea of you and him _together_. You can thank Varric for that.” Cullen sits up at that, and she knows he’ll want a detailed account of _what rumours the damned dwarf has been spreading this time_ ; so she hurries to continue before he has a chance to open that particular can of worms.

“And she’s a romantic at heart. We need her support, and if all she wants in return is to meet her storybook romance heroes for once, we shouldn’t let that chance slip us by. Josephine agrees.” Malika has a suspicion that Josie likes the idea of Cullen and Dorian together, too, but that is probably not something these two need to hear right now.

 “I do not think it is necessary for the Inquisition to resort to such dishonest methods, Inquisitor. That hardly seems an appropriate course of action.”

Cullen, finally. But she has an answer to that particular argument. It’s a low blow maybe – and she dutifully winces at a pinprick of guilt – but…

“We might not have had to, Commander, if you had exercised a little more caution and, let's say, _political finesse_ before, instead of relying on brute force and military stratagems.”

That oversimplifies things a bit – well alright, quite a bit - but he has not exactly been a great help in their negotiations so far, and he knows it.

As expected, his mouth sets in a grim line, but he is silent.

“Fine, now that that is settled-“

“ _Nothing_ is settled!” Dorian again.

This was going to be a long day.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“We should never have agreed to this madness.”

They are standing in the lavishly decorated entrance hall of Chateau Arete, waiting for the lady of the house to arrive for the formal introductions. Cullen, next to him, shoots him a glance.

“Well, it is too late for regrets now. We should make the best of it, I suppose.”

Dorian snorts. “I am sure we will make a marvelous and most convincing couple, you and I. I can practically feel the fire of passion burn between us.”

“…Right.” Cullen clears his throat. Then he takes a step closer, and Dorian jumps as suddenly an arm wraps around his waist.

They both freeze.

“Is this… wrong? I thought-”

“No! No, you are quite right, I was – merely surprised.” Dorian tries for a laugh, and decides it’s almost convincing. “I simply did not expect such boldness from you of all people, Commander.” There, that sounds more like him.

“Alright then.”

So the arm stays, and Dorian makes an effort to relax into it, as their hostess now appears at the top of the stairs, all decked out in silks and finery, and all too eager to greet them.

He misses most of what is said after that, too busy to ignore the nervousness that has crept up on him, and more importantly the feeling that has begun to stir in him at the strong arm wrapped around him. It is ludicrous; he is behaving like an inexperienced youth. He barely suppresses a yelp when the hand on his waist slips upwards and starts to lightly rub his back, as if to soothe him. An unconscious reaction, surely – Cullen isn’t even looking at him, his attention focused the Comtesse.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity to Dorian, the Comtesse leads them further inside, where the rest of the guests are already waiting to begin the evening’s entertainment.

***

The dinner goes surprisingly well. It is, in the end, simply a dinner, after all. The food is delicious, the wine excellent, and entertaining a table of simpering nobles is maybe not his favourite form of entertainment, but certainly one he is used to. That the one sitting next to him happens to be the subject of all his current nightly fantasies pretending to be his partner in far less fantastical nightly activities is hardly of any consequence. No-one expects passionate kisses or declarations of love at the dinner-table. Pretending at normalcy, after all, is much easier than expected. All goes well.

That is, until they start with the questions.

Later, he will look back and say that indulging the nobles by answering even one of them more than evasively was his first mistake – at the time, it seems only right to throw himself full-heartedly into their performance. And if he is being quite honest, he is even starting to enjoy himself after a while. Making up outrageous tales of passionate love and heartbreak and adventure and camaraderie that put Varric’s senseless drivel to shame (he would know, he has read all of his books, after all, secretly and shamefully in the privacy of his chambers). What matters it that Cullen is getting more and more stony-faced beside him, is starting to uncomfortably shift in his seat – he has gotten them into this, he can live through one evening of being a mage lover – serves him right for being such an uptight stick-in-the-mud. The perfect, virtuous Commander would never lay with such a frivolous good-for-nothing mage as himself, not to mention he is straight as an arrow. Everyone in Skyhold knows this. But these people do not, and what harm is there after all in indulging his private fantasies just this once?

He knows he has gone too far when, just as he is about to launch into a retelling of the attack on Haven – generously edited to include the two of them against a pack of Red Templars, fighting back to back as they try to cover the Herold’s escape – when a hand lands heavily on his shoulder and Cullen’s voice is at his ear:

“I think that is enough for an evening, Dorian” and louder, he says: “I apologize, but it is late and we have travelled far today - with Mylady’s permission, we should retire now. We still have a long ride before us tomorrow.”

“Of course, Commander. It was a pleasure”, she answers, and Dorian thinks he knows that look in her eye: Doubtlessly, she is imagining all sorts of deviant activities to take place in her guest bedroom tonight.  Which reminds him that these activities are very much not going to happen anytime soon, or ever, and that thought sobers him up somewhat. He lets himself be gently guided upwards, and towards the door.

The room starts to tilt sideways as he gets up – has he drunk that much? – and the Commander has to steady him. For some reason, he does not remove his hand from Dorian’s back after that. Cullen’s body is warm against his side. He smells of pine needles and leather and faintly of armour polish, even now. As they reach the door, he stops briefly, to address one of the servants in quiet tones. When he turns his head to face Dorian again, it’s hard not to notice how close they are, how close their faces are, so close he can feel Cullen’s breath on his face, and see that strange look in his brown eyes-  …Ah, he remembers, right, they are still in plain view of the party guests, still pretending. So Dorian leans forward and closes that small distance and-

And he kisses Cullen.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The one thing they shall not say about him later, the one thing that he did not do, is run away.

Well. He did run away, that evening, when Cullen froze stiff as their lips touched, took a step back, gave him that _look_ again...

And then he has spent the whole night hiding in the stables (the stables, of all places! He must smell like a peasant now! But it was the one place he was sure no-one would come looking for him) and cursing his own idiocy. Why had he ever agreed to this? Why could he not simply play the game for an evening? Why could he not have been content with what he had – why risk the friendship that he had built with the Commander? Why did he have to be such a fool?

But he isn’t running, now.

Maybe there is still something left to salvage…

With that thought, he takes a deep breath, and knocks.

Cullen is slow to answer the door, and when he does, he looks disheveled, as if he only just got up. He seems surprised to see Dorian.

“Greetings Commander, I must apologize for disturbing you at so early an hour, but might I have a word with you?” _Great. Act as if nothing happened. That is_ nothing _like running away._

He half expects the door to be closed to his face, but of course Cullen does nothing of the sort. Instead he opens it wider and steps aside. “Yes, of course. Please, come in.”

Dorian does, and launches into speech the moment the door closes behind him, before he can lose his courage.

“Well then. Let’s not mince words here – I behaved like an ass yesterday evening, and I am here to apologize. I have far overstepped the bounds of our… ah, little arrangement, and for that I am truly sorry.”

He braces for a stern rebuke, for anger, or coldness. But instead, Cullen shakes his head.

“There is no need for an apology. You were not yourself.”

“I was drunk, is what you mean to say.”

“Well… yes.” Cullen frowns. “I should perhaps have intervened sooner.”

This… is not quite going where Dorian expected. “You are hardly my nanny, Commander. No, no, this I brought on myself. I am only sorry my foolishness affected you as well.” He takes a breath. “Will you accept my humblest apologies?”

“Of course.” Cullen’s answer comes without hesitation. “I am glad you came to speak to me, to be honest. I was… worried, when you were nowhere to be found yesterday.”

Relief washes over Dorian at the words, mingled with guilt. _He should not be taking this so lightly._  “Well. That was foolish of me, and I apologize for my vanishing too.” He forces a smile. “But then we can forget this little incident, I hope.”

The strange look is back on Cullen’s face, Dorian notices with a sinking feeling, and for a moment he thinks he has messed things up yet again; but Cullen merely answers:

“I suppose that is for the best.”

There is an awkward silence, after that, as Cullen appears lost in thought. Or maybe he is just tired.

Dorian clears his throat. “Well then. I believe we are meant to depart in an hour already – I shall see you then.” He makes for the door. He is reaching for the handle already, when a hand on his arm stops him.

“Dorian. Wait.”

_Damn. I knew this went to smoothly._

When he turns, Cullen is not looking at him, instead staring intently off to the side, at the magnificently hideous carving of some beast that adorns the oaken door. He doesn’t speak right away, strangely hesitant, but when Dorian opens his mouth to inquire, he says:

 “I do not know if this means anything to you, but- I would rather not forget that… little incident, actually.”

For a moment, Dorian isn’t sure he has heard correctly.

“I beg your pardon?”

The corners of Cullen’s lips tip up in a slight smile. He still isn’t looking Dorian in the eyes.

“I thought it was actually quite… nice.”

“Nice.”, he answers, blankly.

“Yes. Uh- I mean, I would have preferred you to have been less drunk, and maybe for us to not have been standing in front of a room full of Orlesian nobility, but-” Now Cullen is blushing furiously, but he ploughs ahead “It was quite - Nice.”

Dorian can hardly believe his ears, but a response to that comes almost automatically, if a little hoarsely. “I should hope I can do a little better than ‘nice’.”

And miraculously, Cullen leans in closer, still flushed, and a little breathless: “Care to show me?”

The smile that appears on Dorian’s face at those words is so wide it makes his mouth ache. “With pleasure.”

And so he does.


End file.
